Insanity
by Peb2213
Summary: Beatrice Prior is in a prison and when she taken from the prison by her guard to a secret hide out. There she is told about her amazing gift of being Divergent - which she thought was the reason she had been imprisoned. But what happens when Tris is caught by Jeanine? Who will save her? Who will want to after someone leaks informant on a family secret? What is the secret?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

My heart has been trapped in a cycle for one year, five months, three days and two hours. Well, according to the battered watch that is hooked to my tiny wrist. I had had to wring the leather around twice so that it wouldn't slip off my skinny bones. One year, five months, three days and two hours is the space of time where I have had to manage living whilst the entire world was against me like a tide pushing the ocean shells closer towards their doom inside a child's sand bucket. Two clashes of a metal gun against my steal door alarms me that dinner is to slide through the gap at the bottom of the door any second now. I scramble pathetically from one side of the cell to the other. If I don't grab the steaming hot tray than the guard shall rip it to the other side and I won't see food for three more days. I honestly don't think my body can handle that again. When I catch sight of the bright orange slipping through the crack, I dig my claws into it and pull the disgusting gunk towards me.

"Little brat!"

I ignore the officer as I feast on the stale beard and the mushed peas that are turning into a swampy brown colour. My hands, that are covered in thousands of burn marks already, now have a few more to add to that vast collection.

"Hey, Eaton! How's the family?" I hear an officer from outside one of the other cells, ask. I have learnt a few things from my stay here. One is that the officers are not supposed to use their first names when speaking to one another in earshot of any of the 'patients', for safety reasons. Just in case the 'patients' wish to become people of vengeance after their stay. Every time I think about this, I almost laugh – almost smile. No one has ever left the prison. We either rot to death, are killed or top ourselves.

"Ugh, the food shortages are real tough nowadays, I swear, just getting worst." Comes the reply.

I curl my hands into the form of a fist, ready to punch through the concrete walls are shove the horrific, small amount of food that he had served me not a minute previous, into his ungrateful mouth. How could he say that? He and his stuck-up family have most likely eaten luxury food their entire lives are now that they have to cut down to two meals a day instead of three, they've set off in a fit. The angry fuels the heat burning my blood to boiling point in a matter of seconds. I wish they could just see through the solid walls. See me.

Suddenly, feeling my hunger disintegrate and my antagonism rise, I stand. Lifting the tray with my hand and sending it flying towards the door. The little looking window at the top of the door was open, letting the rubbish produce slam into the brown curls of Eaton's head. He tenses.

The adrenaline in my bones is starting to wear off and I feel the fear settle in my stomach. Bravery? Courage? Nope, sorry, they don't live here anymore. Must have moved away. I'm stupidity and fear and I'm going to stay forever. Have fun with that.

A muffled sound comes from Eaton. A growl is the noise that I would most compare it to. Either way, I'm scared by the inevitable consequences of my idiotic actions.

Flip. Click. Creak.

The door that never opens, opens and I'm faced with a steaming guard. I wish I could fall to my knees and beg for mercy and forgiveness but my feet are imbedded to the ground like an engraftment on a pen, forever there.

Eaton was always just the back of a head to me as well as the hand that slips food through the gap at the bottom of the entry to my cell. He was the deep voice that had conversations with the unknown guard next door. Now, he stands before me like a skyscraper to an ant. I am intimidated, to say the least.

"Follow." There is no questioning in that voice. I trip over my own feet to carry out his request by following him as he sets off down the grim hallway. I know the blueprint of the prison like the back of my hand.

I hear muffled screams from the end of the hallway from a room with the number sixty-three engraved beside it. As I drag my bare feet against the ice-like ground, I caught a peek in through the window at the top of the door. What I see shall forever scar me. A man in a very unhealthily skinny state is at the back, centre of the room, with a brown leather gag over his mouth, dulling his frantic cries. A crippling fear subsides in the pit of my stomach as I watch the man – creature, really – try to free himself of his confinements. I wish I could pity him but it's hard to pity the person you are deep behind a solid shell of lies and fabrications. It burns my core in a sizzling pan of despair to know that I am an early evolution of what this... thing is.

"You are our last hope! You are our last hope! You are our last hope! You are our last..." The monster in its dungeon continues to scream but not just the nonsense it was before, but actual words. I find myself glued to the spot like I had just walked into the construction of a cement pavement without noticing.

"Follow." Growls an unfathomable voice, right beside my right ear, sending cold shivers down my spine. It seems that my guard has stopped beside me when I did and is irritated at my disobedience to his order. I snap out of whatever daze that I appear to be in, and do as Eaton wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm s-sorry." I don't know how but I finally master the fine hold of whatever I had earlier, so that I can apologise to Eaton. I'm not entirely sure why I'm doing this but I am – does that change the meaningfulness of the apology? Something inside of me is screaming, begging for me to say sorry for all the trouble I've been. I run into the tall, sturdy back of Eaton as he seems to freeze in his place at my shaky comment.

"What?" Eaton questions though with his intimidating, sharp voice it appears to be more like an order for an explanation. Fear racks my bones in a fierce manner that I greet in an unwelcomed and fuming way.

"I-I'm sorry-y for t-throwing the food at y-your head." I hate my stutter with a passion that is only going to continue to burn as long as I open my nervous mouth to the world of the language, English, which I am familiar with, somehow.

"Why?" Huh? I swear to God; this man is hates speaking to or helping me in anyway with the lack of information in his questions.

"W-why, what?" That was better than last time on my part, to be perfectly honest, despite the difference in the amount of words in my nerve-ridden sentence.

I'm fearful and nervous and anxious about whatever it is Eaton is about to say to me in response. The man is around 6"4, a staggering height in comparison to my tiny structure of 5"2. His is also extremely muscular and well-built as a result of his training that he obviously needed before he could actually work at the prison.

"Why did you throw the food at my head, sunshine?" Eaton states with sarcasm practically leaking from his mouth as his asks me this seemingly obvious question. As I try to form a sentence of the jumbled words in my cluttered mind, Eaton turns around, now facing me. He towers over me. It frightens me. I'm not one to like being inferior, weak or powerless in any situation though that seems to be the case here.

"Y-you had given m-me mush and t-then you and t-that g-guard where t-talking about f-food shortages. I-it annoyed me." Swiftly, I feel a burning blush of crimson colour form upon my cheeks as I spin my face away from Eaton in a stupid attempt to avoid him sighting the colourization.

"You were angry?" Now I'm actually starting to get pissed off. Of course I was angry, idiot! But I wouldn't say that. Couldn't.

"Yes." Finally – a sentence without anxiety dripping through the cracks. Suddenly, I feel a large hand clasp my bony wrist roughly and begin to drag me away. Eaton has since turned away from me and now has begun to move the both of us in a different direction than before. The dull grey concrete walling, roof and flooring slowly disappear into a pit of pitch black and ragged edges as though they were reaching for the other side like torn apart lovers. I urge to scream, 'Where are we going?!' but an intelligent part of my mind reminds me of whatever the consequences would be, previous to that comment. I start to take in my surroundings when my eyes get suited to the dark environment. A bubbler to one side that is constantly running, a small flickering light opposite to the bubbler and directly above an entrance with no door. This is in addition to a roaring sound of crashing waves from an unseen area before us that has faded amongst the shadows. We pause mid-step, once again catching me off-guard. I give up on apologising to Eaton at this point in time. I mean, I'm most likely going to be executed in a minute anyway – that's the only reason anyone from the prison leaves. We hear, through the screams of the crazies, the light-hearted conversations of the guards that seem to never care. Why should they? This is just a tiny part of their lives, really. Just a part-time job on the side of partying and whatever else the guards rave on about on Monday mornings.

"Wait here." Eaton says, quickly whilst placing me at the left side of the bubbler. From here I can hear the sounds of the furious water even louder and I'm curious. All I wish for is for the courage to disobey Eaton as he storms into the shadows, and follow him towards the waves that seemingly call to me. Exhausted and drained from my body's energy, I lean my minuscule frame against the rocky walls and close my eye lids.

"Hey, could you move at all? I want to get a drink" Confidence leaks from towards the flashing light that has yet to make its decision on whether being on or off. My eyes snap open in alarm and spot a dark-skinned male with deep chocolate brown eyes with his arms crossed over his chest and an amused expression on his carefree face. I stare at the boy, try to evaluate his age and soon come to the conclusion that he must be around sixteen – my age. He raises his eyebrows and nods his head towards the bubbler. Oh, yeah. I speedily move from the area of the bubbler and stranger boy strolls over and twist the tap to drink the clear water. When the stranger boy lifts his head, he turns his head and speaks. "What's your name, doll-face?" I feel the need to slap stranger boy at this disrespectful comment though I settle on answering as a bit of a smart-assiness, if that is even a word.

"Tris. What 'bout you, honey-pie?" My voice is strangely buoyant as I speak. I ponder on the idea for a moment, comparing my current demeanour for my previous one. The findings are as such; one – I am not as intimidated by stranger boy as I am by Eaton and two – I shouldn't be saying my name to stranger boy.

"Uriah."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three.**

Uriah chuckles heartily and I feel confusion burn through my soul as crimson paints my cheeks dramatically. I let out a slight giggle for the first time since I was brought to this hell-hole. It feels amazing to laugh again almost as though a giant weight has been lifted from my shoulders in the few fleeting moments.

"How long have you been locked up, Tris?" What a formal question to ask. That's the first thought to come to my mind. I suddenly decide to take a second look at Uriah's appearance. A black jumpsuit has wrapped itself around his body which should have been a warning to me immediately. The prisoners – like me – wear white jumpsuits, matted and torn at places whilst the officers always dress in standard black ones with an embodied marking over the guard's heart. The marking is an outline of a circle with a picture of a small flame inside. The symbol of the Dauntless Organisation that specialize in the safe keeping of the mentally unstable and dangerous in a pristine facility far away from normal citizens. Basically, they run an insane asylum. My brother, Caleb, had alerted them that I was crazy and without collecting any evidence, they locked me up.

I feel my demeanor change at my brand new knowledge that Uriah is just like Eaton. Doesn't that mean that Uriah would be his last name? With each passing second, I feel myself begin to care less and less.

"You could easily find out if you really wanted to, couldn't you?" I question with a smart-ass look on my face whilst my stormy grey-blue eyes drift from Uriah's face to his Dauntless logo with my left eyebrow raised. The goofy grin on Uriah's face falls suddenly and a serious, shady expression takes over his face.

"I was just trying to make polite conversation." Uriah states defensively whilst placing his hands in the air in a 'I surrender' pose. He then narrows his eyes at me, softly yet he is definitely judging me harshly for some reason. "You're Beatrice Prior, aren't you?" He asks.

"Yeah, why do you ask?" I comment, attempting to be more civil with Uriah after I was such a bitch to him. Suddenly, his brown eyes widen and he looks like a deer in headlights. From over Uriah's shoulders, I sight Eaton storming towards us with a look of anger and urgency on his face.

"Uri, we have to go. Now." He commands and I feel that in this moment I couldn't be more confused.

"Okay, Four grab the girl and head to the control room, I'll find the others." Uriah says before sprinting around the corner. Wait. Four? Uriah? Those are their real names. What? I so confused about this entire situation that my brain decides to overanalyse everything that is currently going on but then I am ripped from my current standing position, over Eaton's shoulders. He races down the hall whilst I hear Uriah's heavy footsteps rushing in the other direction.

Most people in my situation would fight or scream or try to escape this stranger's grasp but I seemingly do the exact opposite. I don't fight, scream or try to free myself, instead I force my muscles to relax and go limp suddenly. When I finally complete that task, I feel Eaton falter and almost trip over his own feet. I close my eyes shut and try to look as though I've fainted. After a couple more minutes of running, Eaton comes to a stop and – from what I hear – opens a door and strolls into the room with me still placed on his shoulder. With one graceful arm movement, Eaton flops my lifeless body into an armchair and I continue my pretending to be unconscious.

"Fuck this." I hear Eaton curse angrily and from the movement of the floorboards, I assume he is pacing the area in front of my limp self. Multiples moments later, the door slams open and a bunch of people seemingly race inside the tiny room. "Finally. What the heck happened back there?" Eaton commands to know.

"I just found the last of us when twenty loyalists started to attack. We lost them for now but we had to kill around half of 'em. They are definitely looking for us now, if they weren't before." Uriah's voice is audible. "What happened to Tris?" I recognize confusion in his tone.

"Went limp on the way." Eaton sounds tense and cold-hearted but there is obvious underlying anger and rage in the simple sentence. "Shauna." At the single word, a figure moves to hover over me and I force myself to calm down and not show this person that I'm faking it. I feel warm fingertips move from my wrists to my throat.

"She's awake. She's been pretending. You were fooled, Four." A girl laughs. She seems to be slightly older than me and smarter than Eaton, to know that it was all just an act. I decide that this is as good a time as ever to open my eyes. It takes me a moment to adjust to the blinding light but I do I sight a fuming body inches away from my own. The rage filled gesture flashes me into the past for only a few mere moments and it's enough to terrify me in this reality. I twist my body into a ball and begin to breath heavily and shakily. Eaton or Four or whatever the hell his name is, is shocked by my reaction.

"You okay?" Eaton questions, confusion heavy in his voice. Am I okay? Really? Really?! I feel anger boil in the pits of my stomach at the ignorance of this stupid creature standing on its hind legs, in front of me. I try and attempt to calm myself not wanting to anger Eaton as he has a visible gun strapped to his side.

"Tris, do you know why you're here?" The girl to the right of Uriah asks. I believe that her name is Shauna and she is a nurse in the infirmary here in the prison. I look around the room, my blue-grey eyes scanning for recognition of any sort. I seem to be the only prisoner in my pure white jumpsuit whilst there are six men, five in black and one in blue – the colour of the intelligent computer whizzes that kept track of the brains behind the Dauntless Organisation. There are also five females in the room, besides myself, two dressed in yellow indicating that they are infirmary nurses. Two more are in black as guards and one is in blue. I still do not understand anything going on here. I shake my head indicating that no, I have no idea about what is going on right now.

"You are divergent. You are going to help us save Chicago from what it's become. We're leaving." A cherry girl wearing a yellow jumpsuit and mocha skin, explains. I'm getting out of here? I'm going home. I feel like physically and mentally; I can go back to Chicago alongside these people but I still fear my divergent powers. After all, the reason my brother had me locked up was because I was divergent.


End file.
